


Ill Wishes

by StormEye7



Series: When a Hunter Loves a Titan [3]
Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Bittersweet, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 21:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormEye7/pseuds/StormEye7
Summary: After suffering an injury on a failed mission, all Nota Chance wants to do is return home to her beloved. Fate grants her that wish, although not in the way the Hunter expected.





	Ill Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> Another something from the RP Server. It's a little bit sadder than the other Quinn and Nota (Quota?) stuff I've posted, but I hope y'all like it anyway.

**The Last Safe City, Earth**

Even during the darkest days of the Dark Age, tales of the wicked, destructive Wish-Dragons had plagued the dreams of Human, Exo, Awoken, man, woman and child, alike. Tales of death, unimaginable cruelty and suffering. Tales of wanton wishes and burning desire brought to life. Tales of pain.

After the alleged extinction of the cruel beasts, the masses thought themselves safe. For what is dead can longer do harm, surely? However, as the Traveller had proved, what has been killed can oft deal wounds anew, and that which has been sent to the pit between the stars may still crawl its way back.

In the months since the Guardians were allowed entrance to the Dreaming City, the cursed cycle had raged on… and on… and on. Trapped in this seemingly endless loop, the Awoken had sought an escape. The plan was thus: wield the Dragon's lingering magicks to return to the time before the curse had been born, and prevent Riven, the creature that had started it all, from death. Without such an act, the cycle could never have been made possible, surely?

Like humanity of centuries past, the Awoken had been proven wrong. The plan had failed. The curse raged on. While nothing had been gained from the venture, nothing had thankfully been lost.

Well… almost nothing.

With quick feet, Nota Chance strolled through the maze of corridors within the New Tower. Her War Cult drabs were burnt and scuffed. Her normally tidy plume of purple hair was messy and frayed. Her face was pale, her head aimed at her feet. Despite her appearance, she appeared as a Guardian of perfect health. The strip of cloth wrapped across her eye and around the back of her head begged to differ. Doing her best to avoid eye contact with passers-by, she made her way to the normally unused Tower infirmary.

Typically, a Guardians wounds were tended to by their Ghost. As for the wounds that could not be healed in time, resurrection would repair. It was only under the rarest circumstances that mortal medicine was required. This… was one such circumstance.

Nota remembered what had happened in vivid detail. She remembered how a creature, which had once been a proud Captain of the Eliksni, tainted by Darkness and wicked will, had thrown a fistful of shadow directly into her face. She remembered how the Blight seeped into her eyes, preventing her from seeing even her own hands. She remembered the fear that had taken hold of her. She remembered her wish.

 _I wish I could see_ , she had foolishly thought in her panic, ignorant to the risks of such carelessness, while an Ahamkara resided nearby. To Riven's credit, she had granted Nota's wish. She had pulled the Darkness from the Hunter's face, granting her back her sight… while bewitching her left eye to never see the mortal realm again.

That was not to say the eye was blinded. On the contrary, the vision that the eyeball was granted was nothing short of incredible. As if in a constant state of ascendancy, not unlike the effects of a Queensfoil potion, Nota could see things that not even a Nightstalker’s Truesight could. She could see the seams between the planes of existence, spy objects not quite bound to a single reality. If she were a Warlock, this new eye would be a great gift.

But Nota was no Warlock, and she was no fool. She knew that every 'gift' granted by the Ahamkara had its price. Nota was less than willing to pay her's. As soon as she returned to the present, the Hunter had taken her knife in hand and… well… she did something rather messy. Even after Goldie, her Ghost, had healed the eye back, the gift somehow remained. Nota had to do something messy a second time.

Rounding a Tower corridor corner, she found her destination. Opening the infirmary's clean glass doors, she stepped inside. The medical staff had been alarmed, to say the least, both at how she told them the ways through which her eye had been lost, certain parts omitted, of course, and at her request to 'tidy up' her mess of a left eyeball instead of repairing it. 

When all was said and done, Nota sat in the waiting room, her eye now removed in a much more appealing, surgical way, a black eyepatch now in place instead of a rough cut of cloak cloth. Truth be told, Nota wanted nothing better than to return to her apartment. Quinn would be home by now, and the Huntress was in dire need of her lover's company.

The medical staff, however, were reluctant to allow her to leave unaccompanied. ‘Standard procedure’ they had called it.

“Do you have any anyone we can contact to come and collect you,” one of the scrubs, an Exo woman with a bleach white paint scheme, asked of her, “A fireteam member? A crimson bond?”

Nota gave a hum of annoyance. She didn't need _babysitting_. Rolling her eye, an odd sensation, she said, “There's a Titan I live with called Quinn. Think ‘er last name is…” she scrunched her face up as she tried to remember, but the scrub cut her off, sounding started.

“A Titan called Quinn?” she repeated, “Is she by any chance Awoken, like yourself? Black hair, orange eyes? A Ghost with star patterns?”

Nota's eye widened. “Yes,” she said, both startled and worried, “How did you…” she began to ask, before realisation hit her like a Cabal drop pod. _Oh no._

The medical staff led her to a dark, sterile room, white paint on all sides with curtains closed and the smell of disinfectant thick in the air. Within was a singular bed, raised off the ground to keep its occupant elevated. The occupant in question was a woman. Despite her distinctive strong muscles and blue skin, Quinn was almost unrecognisable.

Her stomach was covered in bandages, freshly changed by the looks of them. A thin plastic tube was protruding out from between her ribs and into a nearby machine. She was bruised. Visibly beaten and burned. Her Ghost was lying atop a nightstand beside the bed, star-speckled shell scuffed and scarred, but thankfully alive. Nota couldn't speak. Like Quinn before her, she appeared unable to breathe.

“Darlin’...?” she said in the meekest voice she had used in decades. Quinn didn't reply. The Hunter looked ready to scream.

In the seconds to follow her entering of the room, Nota did.


End file.
